


Floors are Falling out from Everybody I Know

by blueabsinthe



Series: Hide the Night [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, New York Rangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueabsinthe/pseuds/blueabsinthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The All Star Games, a phone conversation, and the fallout from that</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floors are Falling out from Everybody I Know

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** mild dirty talk
> 
> Title is lyrics from the song _Bloodbuzz Ohio_ by The National.

Hank leaves for Ottawa on a chartered flight shortly after their shutout win to the Jets. Brad watches him as he rushes from the locker room, brushing past the numerous microphones and handheld recording devices being shoved in his face. He can hear the general bustle of the room as everyone talks animatedly about where they plan on going during the week off.

Brad has memorized his text, the dark letters burning holes into his eyes. He remembers when he checked his phone shortly after the game. He felt like he had been disembodied as he scrolled through Vinny's text. 

_I'm going to be In Key West for the All Star break. Caroline wanted to go with the kids._

Brad had tucked his phone away after reading the text, irritation making it hard for him to compose a reply. When he glanced up from his phone, he noticed Hank staring at him. Hank had his garment bag slung over his arm, his blue eyes holding all the whispers and promises Brad could imagine in his lifetime.

Hank slips from the room before Brad has a chance to tell him good luck. He thinks it is probably better that way. Less chance for him to reach out, let his fingers just brush Hank's, and stare at his bright blue eyes. Then again, would it have been so bad if he had told him good luck. Brad tells himself it wouldn't be that bad. It might make what they've been doing actually seem real. 

Brad recalls hearing the way Hank's breath hitches in his throat, and the way he twisted his fingers in his hair as Brad had sucked on his cock. The image stays with Brad all the way to his car. 

He falls asleep that night with images of him and Hank tangled up in his sheets. 

-x-

Hank hears his phone buzz from the nightstand after the Fantasy draft. He'd snuck back to his room after bowing out of the evening's festivities. He walks the few steps from his place by the window to reach for it. The screen is still blinking, and vibrates in his hand as he checks to see who it is who's calling.

"Brad," he says, voice gravelly from overuse during the day. 

"Y'know, Times Square looks beautiful at night when it's all lit up. Where are you anyway? Out partying?"

"I'm -" Hank leans his forehead against the cool paned glass, and looks down at the streets. He runs a hand through his hair, the lamp on the nightstand spilling its yellow light across the floor. "Are you still in New York?"

"I was thinking about going home, but why trade one cold place for another?" He laughs. "I would've gone to Florida. It's always warm there."

"Vince is not in Tampa though," Hank says knowingly.

A long pause. Hank blinks, and lets his thoughts wander. "Sorry," he finally says.

"For what?"

"For mentioning Vince."

Another pause. The low hum of white noise echoes in his ear. 

"I'm at home sitting on my couch watching the news. Thinking about Vinny. About you. About our next game."

"Brad -" Hank starts. He sighs. "I already told you that I can't -"

"Yeah, I know. That you can't be Vinny for me. But you want me."

Hank shifts slightly, as if Brad was in the same room as him and could see his reaction. "Brad," he starts again. "I don't want -"

"You do," Brad replies, tone knowing. "Otherwise you wouldn't have let me make you come at least four times in the past week. And you wouldn't have made me come that many times either."

Hank recalls desperate images of Brad's body. His mouth, his eyes, his skin. He lets his fingers play with the drapes, watches the way the eggshell white fabric slips through his fingers. "Brad …" 

"I know …"

Hank drags his fingers through his hair, and frowns at the silence on the line. "It's late. I have an early day tomorrow."

"Good luck tomorrow, and for the skills competition and game."

Hank chuckles. "Careful. I might get the wrong idea."

"'Bout what?"

"About you and me."

Hank disconnects before the silence falls on the line again.

-x-

His team wins the Skills competition, but they lose the game. It's all in good fun, and as he boards his charter flight with his teammates, he thinks that's all that matters. He settles in to his seat, and lets sleep claim him.

When he wakes up, their plane is touching down in New York. He says his goodbyes to his teammates and heads for home. He settles in for what he hopes will be a quiet night. 

Hank is surprised when he goes to answer his door, and sees Brad standing there. He's dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, jacket, and polished shoes. 

"Welcome home," Brad says with a grin. 

And, Hank can't help it, doesn't stop to ask what Brad is doing here. But, really, if he was honest with himself, he really doesn't care. So, before Brad can say anything else, Hank curls a hand around Brad's jacket and pulls him inside.


End file.
